Lucasta

by Melinda Hammond

  Lucasta gazed out of the windows, taking in the vivid blue and white April sky and the drifts of yellow daffodils that surrounded the tree house. This was where she belonged, she told herself firmly. This was her home. Her father might resent her presence, but as long as she could retreat occasionally to her own special place she hoped she could be happy. She settled herself down on the floor to read. The cushions felt damp and cold to her touch but she had her thick cloak to wrap about her and they provided a softer seat than the wooden boards. She lifted a book from the pile and opened it, running her hands over the silky smooth pages. It was a novel, nothing improving at all, but it would pass the time, and perhaps even allow her to forget her unhappiness for a while. The wind played around the tree house, rattling loose windows, whistling through a crack in the frame but then over the sounds of nature she heard the tread of footsteps on the staircase. She sighed and put down her book. What had she forgotten to do? She had collected the eggs, set the scullerymaid to work clearing out the dairy and given Cook instructions for dinner. Had she remembered to tell Mrs Piggott about the sheet that needed mending?

  The door creaked on its hinges and as it opened wider, she blinked in surprise.

  ‘Squire Woodcote!’

  ‘Aye. You weren’t expecting me, now, were you Miss Symonds?’

  She scrambled to her feet as the squire stepped into the room, wheezing slightly.

  ‘N-no, indeed. Papa is not at home today.’

  ‘Oh I am well aware o’ that. It’s you I’ve come to see.’

  ‘Shall we go back to the house, then? I think—’

  ‘Oh no, this will do us very well,’ he interrupted, closing the door and planting himself squarely in front of it. Even at a distance he stank of brandy. A shiver of unease ran through Lucasta. She tried to hide it beneath a smile.

  ‘Oh, but there is nowhere to sit here. Let us go to the house and I will order refreshments—’

  ‘I didn’t come here to make polite conversation with you, madam.’ He took a step towards her. ‘There’s some unfinished business between us.’

  ‘I think not, sir.’ She drew her cloak more closely about her as if to screen herself from the hungry look in his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Oh I think so, madam. You ran out on me on our wedding day.’

  ‘I had not agreed to any wedding.’

  He swore viciously and spat on the floor.

  ‘It was your father’s decision, not yours, girl! When have I given you cause to think ill of me – haven’t I always been kind to you? And what do I get for all my trouble? You run away, and leave me a laughing stock.’

  ‘Squire Woodcote, I assure you—’

  ‘Save your breath, missy.’ He began to unbutton his riding coat. ‘I’ve been waitin’ for you to come back, promising myself that I’d have you, one way or t’other. Mebbe if you please me I won’t hurt you too much.’

  She took a step backwards.

  ‘I – um – Mama told me you were looking elsewhere for a bride, sir. If that is so what can you want with me?’

  ‘No one makes a fool o’ me, Miss Symonds. I was lookin’ forward to bedding you, girl, but you thought yourself too good for me, ain’t that true?’ He took another step towards her. ‘Thought to get yourself a fine husband like Miss Camilla, no doubt. But when I’ve finished with you, no decent man will want you!’

  ‘No!’

  As he lunged at her, Lucasta sidestepped and ran for the door but he was too quick. One hand fastened on her cloak, ripping it from her shoulders and the other grabbed her arm, yanking her cruelly back towards him.

  ‘Not so fast, my dear: you are not leaving here until I have finished with you.’

  ‘Let me go!’

  She struggled in his arms, trying to beat him with her fists but he merely laughed and wrestled her to the floor, toppling the pile of books. Lucasta found herself pinned down on the cushions. Woodcote’s hands ripped at her gown, tearing away the muslin around her neck. With a growl he leaned down to kiss her and she turned her face away, gagging at the smell of tobacco and brandy and onions mixed in his hot breath. With all her strength Lucasta struck out, raking her fingernails down his cheek. Woodcote let out a curse and dealt her a heavy blow. Her head snapped back; everything went black. She tasted blood in her mouth and as her vision cleared she found Woodcote kneeling across her, pinning her with his weight while his hands scrabbled to unbutton his breeches.

  ‘Now, Miss Lucasta Symonds, now we shall see!’

  He was leering down at her; pulling up her skirts.

  ‘No,’ she groaned, pushing at him.

  He swatted her hands away. She knew she needed to concentrate if she was to fight him, but it was so hard, so much effort to resist him and she was tiring. She uttered up a desperate prayer. The door creaked on its hinges and Lucasta peered around the squire’s body in time to see Lord Kennington step into the room. It could not be true. How could it be Adam? She had prayed for someone to save her but surely she had conjured him up, a wishful dream. But he could not be a dream, for he was carrying a basket and surely if he was the saviour of her dreams he would be carrying a sword, not a basket.

  ‘Adam!’ she tried to cry out, but she was not sure if she had made any sound.

  The viscount put down the basket and advanced upon the squire, who was not yet aware of his presence. The next moment the leaden weight had been lifted from her. With a cry of rage the squire twisted to face his opponent and was met with a crashing blow to the jaw. He crumpled, unconscious and Adam turned from him to kneel beside Lucasta.

  ‘Thank God I was in time. Are you all right?’

  She reached out and he took her fingers in a firm, comforting clasp.

  ‘You are safe now, Lucasta.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Now we are equal, for this time I have rescued you.’

  With his free hand he straightened her petticoats, smoothing them down as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. A groan and a string of curses announced that Squire Woodcote had regained consciousness. Adam pressed her hand and gave her another reassuring smile.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment: I have unfinished business.’

  He swung away from her and grabbed the back of the squire’s collar.

  ‘I think you have outworn your welcome here, sir.’

  Ignoring the squire’s protests he pushed him out through the door and Lucasta heard the clatter and bump of a body falling down the steps. Alone in the tree house, she heard the sound of further grunts and thuds and she tried hard not to imagine what was going on at the base of the old lime. She struggled to sit up and was rearranging the muslin fichu around her neck when Adam returned.

  ‘He is gone. You need not worry now, Lucasta, he will not trouble you again.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He bent a searching gaze upon her.

  ‘And you are not hurt?’

  ‘N-no,’ she felt her lip. The split was inside her mouth and had already stopped bleeding. ‘A few bruises, nothing more.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that.’

  Now that the danger was over she could think clearly again. The familiar pain returned, replacing her recent fear. It was too cruel, she was not ready to meet Adam again yet. Just seeing him was like a knife slicing into her heart.

  ‘What – what are you doing here?’ The words came out as a croak.

  ‘I came to find you.’

  He crossed the room and picked up the wicker basket. Heavens! Please do not say Camilla had planned a lover’s picnic in the tree-house.

  ‘I have brought you a present.’ He reached into the basket and pulled out a squirming bundle of fur and legs.

  ‘Oh – oh, thank you!’ She reached out to take the puppy. The little dog struggled for a moment, one white ear flapping wildly but as Lucasta held her close she stopped and nuzzled her chin. ‘It is the puppy from Coombe Chase! Thank you so much: I shall call her Nutmeg.’

  Adam smiled.

  ‘She remembers you
,’ he said, sitting down beside her. ‘Godmama asked me to bring her to you.’

  ‘Oh that is kind of Madam Duchess. She will be company for me.’ She fondled the puppy, aware that Adam was watching her.

  ‘Why did you run away?’

  She could not meet his eyes. Perhaps she should try standing up. Gently she put the puppy back in the basket.

  ‘I didn’t run away. I – um – I was homesick.’ She felt his hand under her elbow as she got to her feet.

  ‘Was there nothing in Town worth staying for?’

  She turned away to gaze out of the window, blinking away hot tears.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Godmama was most put out.’

  She squeezed her eyes shut and struggled to speak to him.

  ‘I am sorry. I did write to her …’

  ‘Yes. Some tarradiddle about not wanting to be a burden.’ He paused. ‘You have not asked me yet about the wedding.’

  Another twist of the knife.

  ‘Oh, yes. How – how was it?’

  ‘Oh a very elegant affair. The bride was beautiful, of course; the bride’s mama cried throughout most of the proceedings but Sir Hilary bore up manfully.’

  ‘Sir Hilary! Was he there, then?’

  She looked up to find him standing far too close, that disturbing twinkle in his grey eyes.

  ‘Of course – who else should be there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied hastily, flustered by his nearness. ‘I – I never thought of him as your particular friend, but I suppose you must have a groomsman – I cannot see what I have said that is so funny,’ she ended crossly.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ he chuckled, drawing her into his arms. ‘But you see, my sweet goose-cap, Sir Hilary was the groom.’

  She was putting out her hands to hold him off when the significance of his words reached her brain. She stopped and stared up at him.

  ‘Camilla married Sir Hilary? But – but that’s impossible! She was engaged to you!’

  ‘Never officially. If you had not flounced out of the house—’

  ‘I did not flounce out of the house!’

  ‘If you had not left in such a hurry you would have known all this a week ago. The morning after Miesel was arrested I called at Sophia Street. You were out, shopping if I recall. It was clear to me that Camilla had had a change of heart and no longer wished to marry me, so we decided that it would be foolish to go ahead with the betrothal. Since very few people knew the secret we thought it would be safe to put it behind us. I understand Sir Hilary called shortly after that, proposed and was accepted.’

  She stared up at him, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Oh heartless, heartless Camilla, to treat you thus after all you had been through!’

  ‘No, no she treated me very well. It is many weeks since I thought myself in love with her.’

  But Lucasta was not listening.

  ‘Oh Adam I am so sorry, I would not have you unhappy for the world.’

  ‘I am not unhappy. Lucasta—’

  She gripped his jacket, looking up at him.

  ‘You must forget her.’

  ‘I have forgotten her,’ he said promptly.

  ‘Ah no, you are pretending, hiding your broken heart—’

  She got no further. The viscount, realizing that she was not listening to anything he said, decided to take more drastic action. He cupped her chin with his hand, tilted up her face and kissed her.

  The shock of his mouth upon hers caused Lucasta’s lips to part and she found herself being kissed so ruthlessly, so expertly that her senses reeled. Hot, giddy sensations poured through her body. She felt quite unsteady and was obliged to slide her arms around Adam’s neck for support. His own arms tightened around her, hugging her to him until she was aware of her body melting into his, even pressing against him. At last he lifted his head but he did not release his hold of her and she rested her cheek against his chest, sighing deeply.

  ‘Oh,’ she murmured into his waistcoat. ‘Did you say you were not married?’

  ‘Not yet. You only have to say the word and that can be remedied almost at once. Here, if you like. However, I would very much like to take you back to Town: Godmama tells me she wishes to dance at our wedding.’

  She raised her head, smiled at him lovingly.

  ‘Then we will go back. I cannot deny Madam Duchess anything, especially when she has given me such a sweet little puppy.’

  He kissed her again.

  ‘Good. Then we shall set out tomorrow, and be married at Filwood House by special licence.’

  She looked down at the expectant, furry little face staring up at her from the basket.

  ‘What about Nutmeg?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Nutmeg – my pupppy.’

  ‘Leave her here until we return from our honeymoon.’

  ‘We cannot leave her behind – she has only just left her mother; we cannot abandon her as well.’

  ‘We are not abandoning her. Well, we are, but only for a short time.’

  Lucasta shook her head.

  ‘No, we must take her to London.’

  ‘And what happens to her while we are on our honeymoon?’

  Lucasta paused, then looked up shyly.

  ‘Could we not take her with us?’

  ‘I am not taking a dog on honeymoon!’

  ‘Oh. Is it not permitted?’

  ‘Most definitely not.’

  She peeped up at him through her lashes, her eyes coming to rest upon his mouth, set now in a determined line. It quirked at one corner and she twinkled up at him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Most sure,’ he said, bringing his mouth down to capture hers once more. She responded immediately, matching his desire with her own, equally urgent longing. He held her against him, breathing raggedly into her hair.

  ‘You are a minx,’ he muttered, nibbling her ear. ‘But my plans for our honeymoon do not involve looking after a dog.’

  She shivered delightfully in his arms.

  ‘Very well,’ she said meekly. ‘Perhaps we could take her back to Coombe Chase: she could stay with her mother until we return. Is it going to be a long honeymoon?’

  She looked up as she spoke, the breath catching in her throat as she saw the look in his eyes. His arms tightened around her.

  ‘Yes, my love,’ he said, lowering his head once more. ‘I think it might last a lifetime.’

  By the Same Author

  Maid of Honour

  The Bargain

  Lady Vengeance

  The Dream Chasers

  The Highclough Lady

  A Lady at Midnight

  Dance for a Diamond

  Gentlemen in Question

  The Belles Dames Club

  A Rational Romance

  Copyright

  © Melinda Hammond

  First published in Great Britain 2008

  This edition 2013

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1313 9 (epub)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1314 6 (mobi)

  ISBN 978 0 7198 1315 3 (pdf)

  ISBN 978 0 7090 8685 7 (print)

  Robert Hale Limited

  Clerkenwell House

  Clerkenwell Green

  London EC1R 0HT

  www.halebooks.com

  The right of Melinda Hammond to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988